The Day I Qualified (feature)

by Kyaw Thein Kha
Friday, 04 December 2009 11:28

Mizzima News - Every child loves their family. But what are the consequences of a child being neglected by their parents or siblings or both within the family? If a child has their rights consistently abused how might that situation affect the family? Not surprisingly, many children suffer abuses of their rights within the family. This article, based largely on my personal experience, explains how this can happen.

I lived with my family in a small township, but my hometown was not far from Rangoon (Yangon), the former capital. My little family was a happy one. But ‘little’ it was not. In addition to my father and my mother, there were eleven older siblings. Twelve children, including myself. But don’t be too surprised, my uncle- my father’s brother- had fifteen children. The two families could organize themselves into two football teams. Being the youngest, I couldn’t play, but I joined as the team’s ball boy.

When I started primary school, my teachers, room-mates and their parents asked me, “Hey, Pho Kyaw! How many siblings do you have?” I didn’t want to lie, or brag. So I replied meekly, “Twelve.” My teachers smiled, friends laughed loudly and their parents giggled. You could see at least one of my brothers or sisters in every class from primary to high school. Because of this, nobody dared to make too much fun of me. If one of my brothers or sisters heard that someone was making a joke of me, he/she would come to my immediate defense. We had a kind of unity in our tribe.

Never a day passed where I wasn’t punished with some kind of a beating by one of my parents or siblings. I always had plenty to think about- how to obey the many rules of the thirteen people above me. I did what they didn’t like and had to try to follow the rules.

The thirteen rules I had to follow were:

1. No swimming
2. No playing with fire (A serious offence, punishable by my father)
3. Eat every curry that my mother cooked
4. Refrain from using any kind of bad words
5. In a quarrel with others, be passive. The other party must not come to our house with any complaint against me.
6. Don’t steal others’ belongings. (a second class rule, punishable by mother’s small bamboo stick- which hurt me much more than a big one)
7. Don’t stray too far from home. I must be able to hear someone calling me back (my most common offence)
8. Do not walk on parts of the wooden floor at home which had been wiped or cleaned by my brothers or sisters cleaned and wiped. If I had to walk on the clean floor, I had to first wash and dry my feet. If a footprint was found, I’d be beaten by the relevant sibling)


Rules (1) and (2) were enforced by my father, numbers (3) through (6) by my mother and numbers (7) and (8) by my brothers and sisters.

The dining table in my house was large. On special order, A local carpenter made one big enough to fit all 14 family members. Neither long nor square, the wooden circle-shaped table had four short legs. You can see at least one such table of varying size in most Burmese households.

Although the table was big enough for 14 family members, Brother Number 11and I was not allowed to eat at the table with my parents and other siblings. Sister Number 6 was responsible to train all the younger ones to obey the house rules and for giving us an “Eating Permit” to sit with parents and elder siblings at the dining table. Sister Number 10 had only been given an “eating permit” herself in the last few months. Before that she had put down her spoon too violently after taking soup and curries from serving bowls. Now she could gently take the spoons from the bowls and gently put them back into place.

This was the main reason why Sister Number 6 had issued her an “eating permit”. Sister Number 10 had started to behave like an adult as soon as she was given the permit. The worst thing was that my mother had promoted her to longyi wearing status. Having never being allowed to wear one before, she had worn only traditional skirts. In Burma, young girls wear traditional skirts before reaching adolescence. But Sister Number 10 was only thirteen years old, and my mother had allowed her wear a longyi. Since she was allowed to, she spoke to us (Brother Number 11 and I) like a mature woman. I felt upset about this. But worst of all, she stopped played with the two of us. I was not happy.

I had liked Brother Number 11 to be issued an eating permit. The reason being he had always given me favor when we played together, and had let me tag along with him to play. Another reason was that Pa Pa Thi, the ethnic-Indian woman who sold crackers at the front of our street, had often remarked that my brother spoke like an adult. But, Brother Number 11 couldn’t eat rice properly with one hand. He was always gazing about the table, listening to the conversations of our parents or elder siblings. As a result, he rarely finished the rice in his plate before others had finished. He then ate hurriedly with one hand after another, but only once he had noticed the others finishing up. He then stuffed too-large handfuls of rice into his mouth, blocking his throat. This was his main problem and the reason he had not been given an “eating permit”.

When we ate meals, our mother piled curries high on our plates. The two of us carried our own plates and ate our food at the front of our house, where we could see people passing by the front of our house. We could see some other children, playing with rolling stone balls. When we saw someone walking by, we called out to them in greeting and invited them to eat with us. We did this to anyone that happened to wander by, but soon stopped this practice when our mother scolded and shouted at us. Sometimes, we ate lunch, gazing at the playing children- eating, gazing, eating and gazing! We didn’t finish eating until our parents and siblings had completed their meals in the kitchen. Then Sister Number 6 came out and fed rice to us with her hand, helping us finish our meals.

One day, my uncle- the brother of my father- and his son who lived in the other town visited our house. Brother Number 11and I were happy, with thoughts of playing with our cousin. My mother once told me that our cousin was only a few months younger than me and we played happily together. But when the dinner time came, my uncle said, “Hey, nephews! Why don’t you sit and eat with your cousin?” The two of us were pleased with the idea. It was always interesting to listen to what older people were saying at the dining table.

An hour before dinner, Sister Number 6 said “Humm…., I think I’ll watch the two of you this time”.

“If you can take food from the bowls and eat smartly and neatly, you’ll be permitted to eat with older people later from now on.” she whispered to us behind my uncle and cousins back. My mother also said to the two of us, “Today, I’ve cooked three types of curry - fish curry; duck egg curry, and Indian-style bean soup, as we have guests in our house. I’ll pile fish curry in each of your plates, but you have to take egg curry and bean soup from the bowls. Take them yourselves. But, you are to take only a half of an egg each. Don’t have to eat more than a half of the egg”.

I had never been able to serve myself food before that time. But I had to be careful this time. It was a special dinner and I was more excited than other meal times. The dinner was also an exam to test the qualifications of the two youngest brothers. Should we be allowed to eat at the table or not? We started to eat dinner at 6 o’clock. My uncle and father engaged in many interesting conversations, but I had to be careful to finish eating on time. I had to frequently check the face of 6th sister. I was determined that she should not show any unsatisfied signs on her face.

I neatly took a half an egg from the bowl, just as my elder brothers and sisters had done. But I felt as if my fingers were about to shake with all the excitement and pressure. My brother ate faster than me. When I checked in his plate, he had already taken his half an egg, and my cousin was already onto his second plate of rice. I was taking extra care to prevent spilling the rice from my plate. As my cousin picked up the spoon from the bowl of eggs curry to take another half an egg, I shouted “Mom….!” and asked, “Are the guests also allowed to eat only a half of an egg?”. My cousin was scared by my words and the spoon he held in his hand, fell. I thought I had the right to say that. If he ate another half of the egg, there would be no egg for the Sister Number 1 and Brother Number 3, who had not returned from being out and had no dinner yet. I thought that I could show love and concern for my brothers and sister. I then checked the face of Sister Number 6. Her face was serene and appeared normal, with no visible sign of embarrassment and anger. I guessed she was thinking “My younger brother has said this because he worries for his brothers and sisters”. I expected that I had surely qualified for my eating permit on this ground alone.

But, the situation was not as I had suspected. Two hours after dinner, I was brought to the kitchen and beaten with a bamboo stick by my mother for not giving favor to guests. I learned an important lesson that I had to show favor to guests, as they are more important than even the hosts. I was not clever. I felt more grief over failing the exam at the dining table, than failing a school exam.

I felt very lonely being unable to eat with my siblings at the family table, even though there were so many of them. When I was being beaten in the kitchen, not one brother or sister intervened to stop my mother. Brother Number 11 and I had been given only one chance for affection. That was to sleep in our mother’s bed, where we were allowed to hug her as we slept. We were even scolded by our father if we asked our mother for pocket money on school holidays (weekends). I felt sad for being the youngest in such a large family.

One day, I was beaten by my father for refusing to eat soya bean curry. Our father rarely beat us and I felt so sad that I decided to commit suicide. There was a lake nearby my house where we collected drinking water. My plan was to drown myself.

It was not possible to talk about my plans to Brother Number 11. So I discussed my plans with Aye Naing, a playmate and my best friend. He didn’t want me to do it. I wanted to die as I felt so disappointed and sad thinking about my situation in my family. So, I prepared to do it.

In one evening when it was getting dark, I packed my sweater in a plastic bag because, as I thought, it was windy in the lake and the water was also cold. I wanted to jump off into the water, wearing my favorite sweater. I had seen the dead bodies of drowned people in the lake. Their bodies were rotten and their clothes were torn, showing their naked skin. So, I decided to die with dignity, wearing my little sweater.

That evening, I ate dinner faster than my brother. All my parents and siblings were eating dinner in the kitchen. I was waiting for the moment when my brother would go to the kitchen to drink water. When he went to the kitchen I grabbed the plastic bag with the neatly folded sweater, rushed from the house and ran in a hurry to the lake. It took about five-minutes to get there. At the side of the lake, I started to think, seeing the faces of my father, mother, brothers and sisters in my mind. I started to feel sad and cried. Then I put on my little sweater and walked down to a small wooden bridge connected by two bamboo poles. I stood up on the bridge, then, I jumped off into the water with my eyes closed tight.

From the bottom of the lake, the water reached only to my knees. I was heartbroken I couldn’t carry out my plan. It was an April summer and I felt the strong heat of the sun. The water in many of the lakes and brooks had already been dried because of the strong heat of summer sun. I opened my eyes to check if I was dead. No, I wasn’t.

In the mean time, my mothers and brothers had arrived and cried out at me from the bank of the lake. My brothers came down to the bridge and pulled me up by my hands. Then, I was brought up to the house. My mother wept on the way back. I saw Aye Naing behind me. He had revealed my suicide plan to my parents and siblings. Much later, I was proud of having such a good friend as Aye Naing, and thanked him for it.

My father scolded all my brothers and sisters when we all arrived at home. My mother also was rebuked. The tears streamed from my eyes as my sadness intensified. Sister Number 6 also wept as she placed her arms around me. She said, “Oh, my younger brother, have we ever made you feel hurt?” I saw signs of sadness on everyone’s faces. Brother Number 11 looked as though he was about to cry, “If you die, who will I have to play with?” I didn’t say anything. I kept on in silence. I felt sad again because I had made the entire family anxious and sad. My father said, “Son, come to your Father.” I left the comfort of Sister Number 6’s embrace and approached my father. He put his arms around me. Normally, I would not dare to even approach my father. He rarely smiled. He always talked with a expressionless face, and we were all afraid of him. But, for now, I saw the signs of anxiety and sadness on his face and felt his sympathy.

He said, “My son, tell me what you want.” I told dad what I had longed for most in my life. “I’d like to sit and eat with my older brothers and sisters at the dining table,” I said. Then, “What else do you want?”. Dad continued, “You can ask me for what you want.” I didn’t say anything more. I had told him my most important dream.

Then, Father asked the Sister Number 6, “Well, Ah Nyo, how much pocket money did you give to Phoe Kyaw and Phoe Zaw in the last school year?” (Phoe Kyaw was my nick name and Phoe Zaw was Brother Number 11). Sister Number 6 answered, “Thirty-five pyas (cents), Dad.” Father said, “Well, give the two of them ten more pyas in the next school year, ok?” I had been praying so that the school opened quickly as I’d be paid forty five pyas everyday in the next school year.

I was very happy to hear what my father said. Father continued, “Son, you don’t have to behave like this again. If you want something, you have father, mother, sisters and brothers. Tell all of us what you want. Tell us frankly. The whole family felt unhappy and was worried about you. If others feel unhappy because of one, that’s not good, do you understand what I am trying to tell you?” I said nothing, except saying, “Yes,” nodding my head. I kept silent, as I knew I had been wrong.

Over the following days, Sister Number 6 arranged a new small table and she ate with Brother Number 11 and me. She taught us not to let the rice reach up to the middle joints of the fingers, how to avoid the “Shu…..Shu” sound while drinking soup with a spoon, how to replace serving spoons in the curry bowl quietly, how to avoid spilling rice over the sides of our plates. After two or three days of practice, the two of us could eat rice without any mishaps. From that time on, the big dining table in our house was complete with fourteen family members. It was the day that I had qualified, one of the happiest days of my childhood.